


Come, Let Me Love You

by BowtiesonBakerStreet



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Generally before Golden Circle but Harry is fine and not in Kentucky, I guess that qualifies as, Pining, Protective Harry Hart, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, all the other events of the secret service are the same, nothing too incredibly graphic but there are mentions of blood, some descriptions of violence and injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29449371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BowtiesonBakerStreet/pseuds/BowtiesonBakerStreet
Summary: You are a newly instated Kingsman agent with a massive crush on Harry Hart. Problem is, not only are relationships between agents forbidden, Agent Galahad seems to not want to give you the time of day. That is, until you save his life on a mission gone wrong. As you heal from your injuries, you find Harry becoming much more protective, and the two of you grow closer as the days pass. If only Harry could be convinced that some rules are meant to be broken.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

“Alright, Gawain? Scared of flying?” 

You open your eyes to glance at Eggsy Unwin, sitting on the edge of his seat in the Kingsmen private jet directly next to yours. He has a small grin on his face and a martini in each hand, one of which is extended towards you in offering. 

“If I was, I’d certainly be in the wrong business.” You say, returning his small smile and downing the drink in one large gulp, your hand shaking slightly as you knock the glass back. 

Eggsy’s eyebrows raise a little as you hand him back the now-empty glass with a “cheers”. 

“Nervous about the mission?” He asks after a beat. 

You take a few seconds to think about the question. It’s difficult to pinpoint what emotions you’re feeling at the moment, they all seem to be swirling together into some sort of anxiety cocktail. There’s definitely fear, after all this is your first real, dangerous mission outside of training and of course it’s locating and defusing a bomb in Spain before it can kill 100,000 people. No pressure there. 

But there’s also a debilitating dread. A need for validation. The anxiety of needing to prove to the other Kingsmen, and to yourself, that you’re as capable as them. You never really stood out among the other recruits and it felt like you were selected in the final stages of training by the skin of your teeth and the slight slip ups of your competitors. There was a seed of doubt planted in your mind the moment you walked into that training room and saw those aristocratic fellows being called your teammates looking down their noses at you. A seed which has since bloomed into a full-grown orchard, you might add. 

“It’s just not easy being the new kid on the block, is all.” you finally reply to Eggsy. “Got a lot to prove in such _esteemed company_.” 

You chance a look over to Harry Hart as you say this. He sits quietly in his seat across the aisle nursing his own martini and reading the paper like it’s a calm Sunday morning and not a potentially life-threatening trip to Barcelona to save hundreds of thousands of lives. Always the picture of a perfect gentleman. 

Your heart flutters a little as you gaze at him. You have to admit to harboring a crush on the man since you first set eyes on him at HQ. Although, really, who couldn’t? Handsome, refined, deadly, and slightly aloof, he was a perfect mystery you wished to get wrapped up in, despite Kingsmen rules about no attachments. Not to mention the little detail of him being many, many years your senior, a fact that you have devised to ignore. 

Lucky for Kingsmen (but unlucky for you) Galahad seems not to share these feelings and prefers to keep his distance. It’s not necessarily rudeness, more of a certain air of apathy he regards you with. You have to admit it hurt and it wounded your pride a little as well. You didn’t expect him to corner you in an empty room at the mansion and kiss you in a moment of unbridled passion anytime soon (that is a fantasy you save for yourself on lonely nights), but during the very few times you had been left alone together in an elevator or passed each other in a hallway, he’s given you nothing but a curt nod as his eyes slide over you in seeming disinterest. You don’t even get the typical conversations full of awkward comments about the weather and how Arsenal did that weekend that you normally have with coworkers. It was slightly baffling and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he has a serious dislike for you. 

There’s a small illogical part of your brain that knows you’re hoping to impress Harry on this mission somehow, if just to get him to open up to you a little bit. One lone positive comment from him would nurture this crush you’re cultivating for weeks to come. 

Eggsy follows your line of site to Harry, then looks back at you with a snort and a pat on the back. 

“Been there, done that. You’ll do great, don’t worry. We all know it-” he pauses. “even Harry”. 

He gives you a sympathetic smile then gets up and takes a place at the bar to set down your empty glass. 

You can’t help but find your eyes coasting to the other side of the plane to once again land on Harry. But this time he catches you, and your gazes meet for a brief moment. Your heart skips several beats. You’ve never seen such a pair of fine eyes, rich and brown and beautiful. He nods his head at you ever so slightly then goes back to his reading. 

You look away quickly as you feel a blush run across your face in embarrassment at being caught staring like a lovesick schoolgirl. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to focus on Eggsy’s words instead. They haven’t dissipated your worries, but they’ve calmed them enough to allow yourself to feel a slight amount of ambition, and a slight amount of indignant anger at Harry’s indifference. 

At that moment you make a decision and your grip on your armrest tightens in determination. 

_I’m_ _gonna_ _be the best damn spy they’ve ever seen. I’ve got this._ **_We’ve_ ** _got this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for checking out my fic! This is my first time writing for Kingsman. I fell pretty hard for Harry Hart (and Colin Firth) after watching the Secret Service for the first time and couldn't resist writing something with Galahad! Updates will be posted on Sundays for the foreseeable future. I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 was super short, so I'm posting chapter 2 as a bonus to make up for it. Also, this chapter contains brief depictions of violence and injuries/blood so please be warned!

_ Shit. SHIT.  _ **_ SHIT. _ **

_ We absolutely DO NOT have this. _

_ Shitshitshitshit _ _. _

You curse silently to yourself through the haze of chaos around you. The air is filled with panic-stricken screams and dust as thousands of people rush to get to safety anywhere they can. Roxy and Merlin had been able to locate the bomb at the last minute, but the outside of it was nearly impenetrable and there was no way to get to the wiring inside in time to diffuse it, only to relocate it (i.e.: throw it into a nearby lake with apologies to the poor fish residing there).

The resulting explosion hadn’t killed anyone; however, the blast was incredibly powerful. Enough to shatter windows within a mile radius, collapse an abandoned building beside the lake, and cause a mass panic around the stadium as it was very clear a bomb had just gone off. 

The area around the stadium is now filled with distraught screaming as people clamor to the exits en masse trying desperately to get to safety.

Worse still, Harry had spotted the leader of the terrorist group that had planted the bomb. He was at a safe distance away from the bomb’s original drop site not long after the explosion, seemingly to admire his handiwork, and Harry had informed you all he was in pursuit. Mere minutes later, his tracker had been deactivated.

That was nearly seven minutes ago. Seven excruciatingly long minutes of no communication. As far as the team was concerned, Harry had gone dark.

There’s a knot in your stomach so powerful it nearly makes you physically ill as you sprint towards Galahad’s last known location.

Merlin’s Scottish drawl comes through your intercom clearly over the roar of the crowd.

“Eggsy, Roxy, try and calm down the crowd as much as you can, we don’t need a stampede on our hands.” His voice is calm but there is an edge to it.

“Copy” Eggsy and Roxy reply in unison.

“Gawain, any sign of Harry yet?”

You push down your overwhelming urge to panic.

“Not yet.”

“Keep looking.”

You don’t bother responding. All of your focus is now on finding Harry and you suspect that Merlin knows you won’t stop until you do.

You finally reach the alleyway where Galahad was last tracked to. It’s surprisingly empty, given the present circumstances. Standing still for a moment to catch your breath, you notice something reflecting light further down the small pathway. Upon closer inspection, you find it to be Harry’s glasses, smashed to pieces and scattered across the cobblestone walkway.

Your heart is in your stomach now. Swallowing hard, you steel yourself and take off running again. He can’t be too far.

Finally, after several frantic minutes of bolting down too-empty paths, you spot Harry at the dead end of the alleyway trading blows with what looks to be the leader of the group he was after. The fighting is intense, whoever this man is he’s been trained well, he’s matching Harry’s every move with a perfectly timed block and counter which the Kingsman blocks right back, in doing so perpetuating a vicious cycle of skillful combat.

Harry looks to be holding his own but you sprint towards the pair anyway, determined to end this as soon as  possible . Before you can reach them, though, the man lands a crippling punch right to Harry’s face, hard enough to send him to the ground. 

Harry’s tired, you can tell, clearly it has taken everything in him to keep up with this mysterious foe. He spits out a mouthful of blood. The man takes the opportunity to quickly run behind him and reach for a gun on the ground that must have been knocked out of his hand during the fighting. Right as he takes aim at Harry, you let out what you can only describe as a growl as you slam into your target with all the force you can muster.

Harry Hart will not die today. Not on your watch.

The two of you collapse to the ground, both of your hands on the weapon in your attempt to disarm him. You immediately regret your carelessness, though, as you fall on your outstretched right arm and feel a sickening pain radiate up to your shoulder. Realizing you’ve probably just broken your arm, you let out a groan but force away any pain to focus on subduing whoever this person is. In your fight for dominance, and still entangled with the stranger, you roll over once, twice, three times, fighting as hard as you can to get him to release the weapon.

**_ BANG _ ** _. _

Your left ear starts ringing louder than it ever has before, to the point where it is drowning out all other noise around you. A warm sensation spreads down your neck and chest, like someone just doused you with a bucket of water. Your attacker is pulled off of you and out of sight as you try to register what just happened. With incredible effort (likely courtesy of all the adrenaline) you’re able to pull yourself to your knees to drag yourself towards the wall closest to you. 

You’ve crawled a few feet when the dizziness sets in. You collapse onto your side, feeling as if you’ve had too much to drink. The world around you refuses to quit moving and stay level.

You vaguely register your name being yelled from somewhere, maybe several different places, as you bring your hand up to the left side of your neck. There is red liquid everywhere, pouring from what must be a wound like a fountain. 

_ Shit, jugular _ you know instinctively. There’s far too much blood to be anything else. Panic rises in you momentarily, your breathing quickens, your heart beats faster, fingers digging into the stone beneath you reflexively, desperate for stability,  _ you don’t want to die, not here, not now, not on your first real mission, not like this. _

Tears form in your eyes before you realize it. You’ve never been so scared in your life. You know this should be the moment your training kicks in and you push down the fear to think logically, but that moment doesn’t come. Instead, your mind is a whirlwind of regrets, wishes, panic, confusion, thoughts forming and then dissipating before you can process them, like trying to grip a slippery bar of soap.

Through your mental fog, you feel a firm hand grip your shoulder, rolling you over onto your back. Harry comes into view above you. 

“Gawain, look at me” Harry’s voice cuts through your inner turmoil like a knife. “I need you to focus on your breathing.” He pulls his handkerchief from his breast pocket and presses it tightly against your neck. His voice is firm and calm but you can see panic in his eyes which are now unobstructed by his Kingsmen glasses that now lay broken in your pocket. It’s the closest you’ve ever seen them and combined with his messy hair from his fight, you suppose there are worse images to see before you die.

“Gawain, listen to me, I need you to try to take slow, deep breaths, you need to slow your heart rate down or you’re going to bleed out.” his tone is commanding. It reassures you through your panic. 

You grip his arm holding the piece of fabric to your wound and choke out a sob.

“Harry. Please- I’m so scared.”

It’s a soft plea, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for. You feel like a child reaching out to a parent after a fall off a bike or a tumble from a tree. It’s probably pathetic, especially if these are your last moments, but you don’t care. The fear you feel is something primal and overwhelming.

Harry seems to understand whatever you’re asking for, though, and his voice softens. “I know, Y/N, I know, it’ll be alright. The others are coming for you as we speak. They’ll be here any minute.” 

You still at his words. He’s never called you by your real name before. It’s a shame it couldn’t be said under different circumstances.

You follow Galahad’s instructions and exhaustion  sets in as your breathing slows. You’ve never been so tired in your life. It’s a deep-seated fatigue, like you’ve just ran a marathon on no sleep. If you could just close your eyes for a few minutes. Just rest for a few moments...

The last thing you hear is Harry’s voice once again, strain and desperation clear as day in his tone this time.

“Y/N hold on for me,  _ please.” _

You think you feel a hand press to your cheek, but the darkness engulfs you before you even realize you’ve given in to it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for a very brief mention of blood in this chapter.

You were never a fan of hospitals. As a child they frightened you with their coldness and unfamiliarity, and as an adult it usually meant some type of injury too serious to stitch up on your own. Both of those dislikes mixed together made for a strong displeasure of anything even remotely regarding a medical facility. 

So, to wake to the unmistakable steady beeps of a heart monitor was jarring to say the least. Slowly opening your eyes, however, you notice that the light in whatever room you're in doesn’t have the harsh starch-white edge of a traditional hospital room. It’s softer, and slightly cozier, though still bright, and it takes a minute for your eyes to fully adjust to your surroundings. 

The room isn’t very large, but it’s bigger than the average hospital room and lacks the finer details of a typical one as well. No whiteboard with a nurse's name on it, no low chatter outside the door, no hum of artificial lighting. There’s even a large flatscreen TV on the side of the room facing you, much nicer than any hospital would allow for. They must have airlifted you back to the mansion. 

To your left is the heart monitor that woke you, still beeping away dutifully, along with a table containing a cup of water and a small vase of beautiful purple hydrangeas with a “Get Well!” card propped up against it. You smile to yourself. Those must be from Roxy; she knows how much you love the little clusters of flowers. 

Your gaze finally drifts to your right where Harry sits slumped over in an uncomfortable looking chair wearing a grey double-breasted suit with a black pocket square (one of your favorites on him). His hand is propping up his face which now have a shiny new pair of glasses on them, his eyes are closed, and what you think, with a smile, is the soft sound of a slight snore drifting quietly from him. There’s a cut on his cheek, likely from the fight, but he looks otherwise unharmed. You thank any cosmic entity listening in that he’s okay. You note that he actually looks quite soft and it’s the most vulnerable you think you’ve ever seen him. 

You try to sit up in the bed to take a better look around the room and when you shift your weight forward, a bolt of pain radiates throughout your arm and your neck. You look down to see your right forearm bound tightly in a plaster white cast. So, you had been right about breaking your arm, then. Wonderful. You use your good arm to reach up to your neck where you feel a thick gauze covering nearly the entirety of the left side of it, wincing at the sting. You shudder at the memory of the blood pouring out, of Harry tightly pressing fabric to your wound to keep you alive. You remember then how terrified you were and shame creeps into your mind at how overcome with panic you had become in that moment. What had your training been for if not to prepare you for something like this? 

You shake off the memory, and your self-doubt, for the time being, and an instinctual groan at the pain in your arm escapes your lips as you shift your position in the uncomfortable hospital bed. The noise wakes Harry with a start as the elbow that was propping up his face falls from the arm of the chair. He looks around the room on full alert before his gaze lands on you and he steadies himself. 

“Hey” you say to him with a small smile. “You look like shit.” 

It’s a lie, Harry never looks like shit, but it brings some much-needed brevity to the quiet room. 

He pauses for a moment to take in his surroundings, probably still a little groggy from what must have been an impromptu nap, before his eyes settle on yours. They seem to go a little softer at the sight of you and he smiles faintly, finally processing what you just said to him. 

He puts a hand to his back and crooks his neck, no doubt a little sore from sleeping in the chair. “Well then, I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” 

You shift your arm and wince again at the pain. 

“I’ve been worse.” 

Another faint smile crosses Harry’s face at that. 

“What happened? How long have I been out?” 

“A few days. Do you remember the fight?” 

You nod solemnly. 

“The bullet didn’t hit you directly but it grazed the artery in your neck. It bled pretty profusely. Things were touch and go for a bit.” 

Silence stretches awkwardly across the room at the unspoken insinuation of the seriousness of your injury. 

“Gawa-... Y/N,” He breaks the silence. And there he goes, using your real name again. “I... should thank you for what you did. For saving my life.” 

You look at him a little dumbfounded, not knowing what to say, and you realize these are more words than you’ve exchanged with the man in the entire past month. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. Teamwork, right?” You say sheepishly. No need to mention the gigantic crush you have on him that contributed slightly to your desperate, and frankly half-cocked, attempt to save him. “Besides, you seem to have already paid me back.” You point to the bandage on your neck. 

“Yes, well...teamwork. Of course.” He echoes your words. 

You lock eyes for a moment. Harry looks like he has more to say, but as his mouth opens to say it, Merlin enters the room, a broad grin on his face as he sees you’re awake, and Harry’s mouth snaps shut. 

“Y/N! Good to see you up and about.” the Scotsman says with an enthusiastic nod. “How are you feeling?” 

You give him a wide smile. “No worse for wear. I’m a bit miffed my dominant hand is the broken one, but the whole ‘not being dead’ thing makes that seem a little insignificant.” 

Merlin chuckles and writes something down on his clipboard. You take the opportunity to attempt to throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but you find yourself much weaker than expected and your legs feel so heavy it's as if they have anchors attached to them. 

Both men leap to your side faster than you can blink. Harry lays the barest hint of a touch on your shoulder to steady you. 

Merlin gently urges you back against the pillow. “Woah, you’re not going anywhere. You lost a lot of blood. And it’s going to take about six to eight weeks for that arm to heal up. You’re gonna have to take things slow for a while. Doctor’s orders.” 

“You’re not a doctor” you reply with a grin. 

“Fine, Arthur’s orders. Better?” 

You groan and collapse back into the pillow behind you. “Please tell me I’m not being benched for two months. I cannot be cooped up that long, I’ll go mad.” 

Harry, now standing at your bedside, crosses his arms. 

“Nonsense.” he says, the hint of a smile once again on his face. “I’m sure Arthur will allow you the occasional dead drop.” 

Both men chuckle at the horror that crosses your face. 

“You’re going to make me run errands?” 

“Now, Y/N, don’t be like that” Merlin chides half-heartedly. “You know dead drops are vital to our agents in the field.” He’s clearly just taking the piss at this point. 

You drag your good hand across your face. “I can’t believe I’m going to be doing milk runs for the next two months.” 

Merlin pats your leg in consolation. “Something tells me you’ll live, Gawain.” He makes a few more scribbles on his clipboard then heads toward the door. 

“I’ll send Eggsy and Roxy in to see you.” He calls from behind him as he exits. Your eyes follow him as he leaves, then slide to Harry who is still standing by your bedside with his arms crossed. 

You give him a hesitant smile, which he surprisingly returns. 

“Well...” he says finally, changing his posture to hold his hands behind his back. “I suppose I should be getting back to it. Do you...is there anything you need before I go?” 

You cock your head a little at Harry’s question, completely awestruck that he’s being so nice to you. 

“I think I’m okay, thank you though”. You don’t want to impose, but at that moment your stomach chooses to let out a loud rumble. You realize it’s probably been days since you’ve had a proper meal. 

Harry looks at you over his new glasses with a chastising grin. 

“Okay, maybe I’m a little hungry.” you begrudgingly admit. 

“Anything you’re in the particular mood for?” He asks, already heading towards the door. 

“I’d kill for fish and chips.” 

Galahad nods curtly. “I think I can manage that, with no homicide involved, might I add.” 

He gives you another playful smile then turns and leaves abruptly. You stare after him for several minutes, your brain trying to process his sudden change in attitude towards you. Although, you suppose saving someone’s life can have that effect on them. Whatever it is, you’re grateful for the change of heart. He may not return your feelings, but him at least being friendly is a nice change of pace. 

Eggsy and Roxy enter not long after with concerned expressions and well wishes. You assure them you’re fine and they regale you with the tale of what had happened after things went dark for you. 

Apparently, after receiving the 911 from Harry and Merlin, they had come upon you and Harry in the alleyway alone, Harry kneeling over you still putting pressure on your neck. The leader of the terrorist group you had both been fighting was nowhere to be found. Harry told them later on that he had pulled the man off you after the gun went off and given him several direct punches to the face to subdue him. He should’ve been out for at least a few hours, but miraculously was on his feet after just a few moments. Taking advantage of Harry tending to you, he sprinted off in the opposite direction to parts unknown. 

This information makes you bristle a little. The target got away because of you. Who knows how many more people will get hurt because this person is still at large? 

“Hey, don’t think like that.” Eggsy consoles when you say as much. “What’s the very first thing we learned in training?” 

You think back to your first night in the mansion and the room filled with water that sometimes still haunts your dreams. 

“Teamwork” you acquiesce. 

“Exactly. No one gets left behind.” 

Eggsy always seems to have the right words to cheer you up. 

Roxy makes sure to water the hydrangeas she got for you before her and Eggsy take their leave. They haven’t been gone for too long when Harry returns with the fish and chips you asked for. You chow down on them immediately and they may just be the best fish and chips, rather the best meal, you’ve had in your entire life. 

Harry takes a seat in the chair next to your bed and you eat in companionable silence, switching the tv on part of the way through your meal. He lets you have full control of the remote and you end up watching a Monty Python marathon for several hours. 

You think to yourself that if the result was being able to spend time with Harry like this, nearly dying may have been worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be the longest and the fluffiest so far, wow.

Dead drops in the Kingsman world are the spy equivalent of a fetch quest or an errand run. An agent in the field needs equipment too fragile to send via drone? A message needs to be communicated that is too sensitive to risk sending over even the encrypted channel? That’s what dead drops are for. 

Unfortunately, since there are only 12 active agents in the field, and not many needing drops at one time, dead drop detail also includes traveling around to various safehouses and stashes in the city and ensuring each one is fully stocked with weapons and ammunition and are in good enough working condition to be used in case of an emergency. The safehouses aren’t used incredibly frequently, but agents sometimes prefer them to more public means of overnight stays, such as hotels, so it’s important to make sure each one is stocked up in case of a real catastrophe.

Though vital, it’s a boring and tedious job mostly considered to be for the tech crew and the pencil pushers of the organization, Kingsman field agents hardly ever run them. However, with your arm needing time to heal, and still feeling some side effects of the massive blood loss you endured, it seems Arthur and Merlin have decided it’s all you’ll be doing for the next few weeks, much to your chagrin. 

Merlin had wanted you to stay in med bay and recuperate for a little while longer, but you were feeling better with each passing day, despite your dominant hand being trapped in a cast and sling. Besides, the only thing worse than being stuck in one of the Kingsman cabs all day, driving around and topping up shotgun shells, was being stuck in a hospital bed. 

Still, you exit the Kingsman shop on Saville Row dreading the day ahead of you and wishing you had thought to grab a  cuppa before leaving the mansion. It’s not too cold outside, but there’s a slight chill in the air and the comfort of hot tea would do wonders to warm your aching bones. 

The cab you’ll be taking sits out front of the shop waiting for you, black coat gleaming in the mid-morning sun. You go to grab the driver's side handle when you hear your name called from down the street. You turn to see Harry walking towards you, two paper cups in his hand.

“Oh, hello Harry.” You call out. “Heading into the shop?”

He stops in front of you.

“Actually, I’ve been assigned to keep you company today.” He holds out one of the cups with a blank expression on his face. “Tea?”

You squint at him suspiciously and accept the offering.

“And why is it, exactly, that I need a senior agent tailing me on a glorified milk run?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask  Arthur; I’m simply following orders.”

You think Harry looks a little amused as he says this. He looks at you indignantly and you roll your eyes, relenting to the man.

“Fine.” you sigh “But I’m picking the music.” You say, setting the cup of tea on top of the car to open the driver’s door.

You reach towards the door with your good arm and it collides with Harry’s as you both grab for the handle at the same time.

“I’ll drive.” he says quickly.

“Harry. It’s  self-driving . Neither of us have to drive.”

“That doesn’t mean one of us  _ can’t _ drive.”

You tilt your head at him in annoyance and end up staring each other down for a few moments. When you realize Harry isn’t moving anytime soon, you finally release your hold on the door handle and place your good hand on your hip in defiance. The man seems to be as stubborn as he is handsome.

“Are you here to accompany me or babysit me?”

“I’m just following or-”

“Orders, yea. I heard the first time.” you’re unable to keep the iciness out of your voice.

You grab your tea from the hood and turn on your heel to walk around to the other side of the cab, setting your tea on the roof of the car once more to open the passenger door, then grabbing the tea again and leaning in. It takes a bit of maneuvering but you’re able to find your seat without causing too much pain to your arm, and miraculously without spilling any of the hot beverage all over yourself. Harry takes his seat beside you and starts the engine, silence now falling between the two of you.

As you settle in you begin to feel guilty for snapping at Harry. If he’s telling the truth, he’s not the one you should be upset with. But pushing down your anger is difficult. Dealing with your own self-doubt about your abilities has been taxing enough, but to have Merlin and Arthur share those doubts? To the point where they send one of their most senior agents to escort you on what is essentially a Sunday drive? It’s almost insulting.

You turn the radio on a little forcefully. “Heroes” by David Bowie begins playing quietly over the speakers. 

“Where to?” Harry asks. His voice is even and calm, and he appears to not be bothered by your previous unruliness.

You take an iPad out of the glove compartment and pull up a map.

“No drops scheduled for today. I was going to head to the safehouse in Brighton and make sure it’s stocked up.”

“Turn down service, then?”

“Looks to be that way. Still happy to be chaperoning me?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

The car lurches into motion as the two of you set off.

“Believe it or not, Gawain, I’m actually quite keen on the occasional jaunt through the English countryside. It’s a nice way of breaking up the monotony of foiling assassination attempts and bringing down drug cartels.” He glances at you with that barely-there smile you’re slowly getting used to before turning back towards the road.

You watch him for a bit with an amused look on your face. You’ve never fully seen this side of Harry before, this joking and mischievous side he seems to be showing you more and more often. It’s honestly a little strange. Incredibly endearing, but strange nonetheless.

You turn away from him and take a sip of the tea he gave you. It’s quite possibly the best breakfast tea you’ve ever had. And it seems to be made exactly the way you like it with just enough milk and sugar. Either Harry had a lucky guess at how you take your tea or you have very similar tastes. You gaze out the window and continue taking small sips of your tea. The warmth of the morning beverage spreads through you and you can feel your mood lightening.

David Bowie fills the silence that soon falls between the two of you once again.

_ And you, you can be mean _

_ And I, I’ll drink all the time _

_ Cause we’re lovers, and that is a fact _

_ Yes, we’re lovers, and that is that _

You give the radio a side eye at the lyrics, still feeling guilty for snapping at Harry. You take a breath.

“Listen, Harry, I’m sorry for my rudeness back there. You’re not the one I’m angry at and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It’s just-” you pause, unsure of how much you should open up to Harry. He says nothing, but gives you a quick look as a prompt to continue. “I know- I know that I’m new and I’m the agent with the least experience. And I know I fucked up that last mission and I got hurt and someone dangerous got away because of me, but all of this feels...degrading. I’m not a child that needs to be watched lest I run with scissors.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Y/N. No one views you as a child, Merlin and Arthur are simply looking out for the well-being of an agent. They’re doing their jobs. The consequences of putting you back in the field when you’re not fully ready could be fatal. Not just to you, but the people around you.”

You know he’s right, but you opt to remain silent and go back to gazing out the window as the traffic passes by.

“And you did not fuck up that last mission, by the way.” He says as you come to an intersection, turning to look at you as you come to a stop.

Your gaze snaps back towards him at that. You’ve never heard Harry curse before, and the sound of it is actually quite jarring, like hearing the queen curse when addressing the nation. He continues to look at you with a playful grin on his face until the stop light turns green and the cab is moving again. 

“If you had  _ actually  _ fucked up,” He continues, eyes now back on the road. “I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Something in you softens at his words. 

“I owe you a debt, Gawain. And I hope to repay it as best I can.”

_ That would explain why he’s being so nice _ you think sadly. You chide yourself a little at being foolish enough to think his affections, or lack thereof, could have changed so drastically in such a short amount of time.

The rest of the ride is mostly spent in a companionable silence you’ve began to get used to with Harry, punctuated by brief conversations about various goings-on around headquarters. Roxy calls about an hour into the ride to check in on you and you let her know that everything is fine, and ask her to please water your hydrangeas for you as you’re not sure when you’ll be back.

The view outside the window slowly turns from bustling London inner city to the rolling green hills of the countryside and then to hearty port town as you close in on your destination in Brighton. The safehouse is a small building on the edge of the water next to a docking port. It’s not as much secluded as it is dwarfed by the large boats on the water surrounding it. It’s easy to see how it could be overlooked if one didn’t know exactly where it was supposed to be.

Harry backs the  cab in so its boot, where the extra weapons and ammunition are being stored, is facing the pathway leading to the front door. You slowly open the passenger side door and begin to climb out when suddenly Harry is in front of you, holding out a steady hand in offering. You look at him for a moment in surprise before accepting and he easily helps pull you from the car with a tug. You hesitantly nod your thanks and he begins walking the path towards the front door. You stare after him for a few seconds, your hand still buzzing with what feels like electricity where your fingers touched.

_ He’s just being nice _ you tell yourself.  _ Quit overthinking it. _

The inside of the safehouse isn’t much to behold. It’s about the size of a modest flat, if a little mustier. The decorations are clearly outdated, looking to be straight out of the 1970s with wood paneling and shag carpets everywhere, but that’s to be expected. A multi-million-dollar home on the shoreline brimming with the latest technological advancements available wouldn’t exactly be described as incognito. 

Through a double doorway on your right is the kitchen, just as modest and unassuming as the rest of the place. You check the cabinets where there is surprisingly decent quality glassware. But disappointment crosses your face as you open the fridge to find it completely empty. Your stomach begins to growl as you realize the tea Harry gave you is all you’ve had today in the way of sustenance.

You push the thought down, resolving to see if Harry can stop somewhere for food once you’re finished, and turn your attention to the pantry, opening the door and glancing inside. A few shelves line the wall to your left and right with some canned items scattered about whose contents you have doubts about in the way of freshness considering how old they  appear to be. A single string bulb is all that is there to light the tiny, concrete room. You pull the chord with a click and are immediately bathed in soft yellow light. According to the information on your iPad, the biometric scanner should be here somewhere...

“Aha” you murmur to yourself as you place your hand on the empty concrete wall at the back of the dingy little pantry. Light emits from behind your fingers as your prints are scanned and the wall slowly begins to descend into the floor, revealing a room the size of a walk-in closet. Guns, umbrellas, ammunition, and all kinds of gadgets line the walls in droves. A modest stockpile of weapons if you were to say so yourself.

“Got it!” you yell out to Harry. You hear his footsteps echo across the hardwood kitchen floor towards you. He hums his approval once beside you.

“Looks like most everything is in order.” He comments. 

You immediately notice how close he has to be for both of you to fit into the room side by side, close enough to smell the musk of his aftershave. You turn your head slightly to look at him standing beside you, almost pressing up against you in the enclosed space. You can’t help but admire his profile with soft eyes. The lines on his face reveal his age and his history of spy and military work, likely a hard life lived. You feel an urge to trace them with your fingers. And of course, his dimples are there, barely noticeable when not smiling.

He turns to you then and you feel yourself flush slightly at being caught staring, and not for the first time. This time is different though, somehow. Your gazes meet, but instead of indifference and a quick glance away, you see a tenderness in his eyes instead, tinged with apprehension and uncertainty.

But,  _ oh _ , you could stare into those brown eyes for hours and never look away. Deep and rich, they’re the color of chocolate, of molasses, wonderful and sickly sweet.

Harry clears his throat after what feels like hours but must have been seconds.

“I’ll grab the ammo bag and stock up.”

You brush up against each other as he moves past you and you feel your flush deepen. 

_ Get it together  _ you think to yourself.  _ You’re a trained spy, quit letting your emotions get the better of you. _

The two of you make quick work of the stock up, and after a last check of the security systems you close up all the hidden compartments and hatches and find yourselves about ready to head back to London after only a couple of hours, the sun now well into the afternoon sky. 

As you stand in the kitchen giving it a final once-over, you feel a rumble in your stomach as you remember how hungry you are. You walk to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and find Harry crouched on the floor, packing up a bag to get ready to head back. 

“Hey, I’m starving, can we grab a bite before we head back?”

Harry looks up at you from his place on the floor.

“Of course.” He pauses, then tilts his head to look at the kitchen behind you. “Or, if you’d like, I cook us something.”

You’re slightly taken aback at the suggestion, but you have to admit it sounds amazing. You glance back at the outdated kitchen equipment.

“Do you think any of this stuff actually works?”

Harry stands and walks over to you, leaning on the opposite side of the doorway you’re leaning against and eyeing the old stove top that is likely as old as Harry himself. 

“Shall we find out?” 

He’s grinning at you now and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Alright, but if we burn down the safehouse I’m blaming you.”

He breathes out a laugh and heads towards the door.

“I’ll go pick us up some ingredients. Will you be alright until I get back?”

You give him a patent stare and a raised eyebrow.

“Right-” he says holding his hands up “not a child. I’ll just be a moment.”

Harry isn’t gone long and you manage to fill the time by rifling through the cabinets and drawers of the kitchen and picking out some cookware and a few dishes that should fit whatever it is Harry decides to cook.

When he returns, he’s carrying a paper bag in his arm with a few vegetables sticking out of the top.

“I hope you like pasta.” he says setting down the bag on the counter.

“Love it” you respond, a little giddy at the prospect of both getting to cook with Harry and enjoying a decent meal.

He’s bought tortellini, creme fraiche, and some assorted vegetables. A little heavy for an afternoon lunch but it looks delicious nonetheless. You also notice a bottle of red wine at the bottom of the bag. Something old and fancy with a name you’ve never heard of and likely can’t pronounce correctly, if you know anything about Harry’s taste in alcohol.

To your amusement, you also find that Harry has purchased an apron. You pull it out of the bag and hold it out to him.

“All these spy gadgets we keep on us and we don’t even think to carry an apron around?”

Harry looks over his glasses at you and plucks the apron from your hand with an amused grin.

“Our suits are bulletproof, not stainproof.”

You chuckle as he removes his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his white button down to his elbows, then unrolls the apron, places it over his head, and ties it behind his back in a few smooth motions.

“I bought one for you as well if you want to use it.” He nods towards the bag.

You gesture towards your injured arm in  its sling. “I’m not sure how well it’ll fit.”

“Here-” he says stepping towards you. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the other apron, blue with white stripes running down it, just like his. 

Carefully, he places the apron over your head with a tenderness that makes your heart melt, then stands behind you to tie the string behind your back. He’s standing so close you can hear his steady breaths, can almost feel them on the back of your neck.

“There we are.” he says as he finishes tying the strings. The apron sits over your injured arm loosely enough so you can still  maneuver it underneath.

You turn around to face him.

“Thanks.” you say gently.

You’re just a few inches apart from each other now. Neither of you are leaning towards the other, but neither of you make to move away either. Light from a nearby window is reflecting in Harry’s eyes, lightening up their normal dark brown. It reminds you of sunbeams flowing through a glass of whisky.

As you admire his eyes, you think you see them glance down to your lips for a brief second, then back up to your own gaze. You swallow hard.

Harry clears his throat.

“Yes, well...shall we get started?”

He takes a step away towards the counter and begins laying out the  ingredients on the counter top.

Your heart rate has increased slightly at the encounter but you shake the moment off and blame it on simple awkwardness, and another case of you reading too much into things. You can’t allow yourself to hope knowing it will only lead to you getting hurt. Harry is simply overcompensating for what he thinks is a debt he owes to you, and that is that. 

You collect yourself and offer to help with the ingredients, but there’s not too much you can do with only one arm, so you relinquish yourself to washing the vegetables and then the plates and glasses you’ll be using as they have about an inch of dust collected on them. Every so often you glance over at Harry with a smile that’s occasionally returned. 

Conversation flows easily enough between the two of you, chats about little things like the drive and the city. You find it surprisingly easy to talk to Harry. He isn’t always much of a talker, but his words always have thought and purpose behind them. You also start to realize just how casually he curses in conversation, a fact which you can’t believe you never noticed before. Although, the man barely said two words to you up until this past week so you aren’t too surprised this vernacular is such an amusing revelation. 

The conversation flows over well into the meal, and by the end of it, Harry is finishing telling you the tale of how he, Eggsy, and Merlin saved the world from Richmond Valentine.

“That explains...so much!” you laugh incredulously, your plates now empty and forgotten in front of you on the small kitchen table. “I was still in the army when all that happened and let me tell you, being surrounded by dozens of highly trained soldiers whose aggression inhibitors have been messed with was _ not  _ fun. Actually-” you tug down the collar of your shirt to expose the top of your right shoulder where a large raised scar a few inches wide sits just beside your collar bone. “A mate of mine did that. Stabbed me right in the shoulder with a utility knife she was holding. Luckily, she didn’t hit anything important. Just soft tissue. A lot of my friends weren’t so lucky.”

A pause passes between you at the weight of the words and the thought of how many people didn’t survive the few minutes the world went mad.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t easy to witness.” Harry responds, his expression sincere.

You shrug and right the collar of your shirt.

“Wasn’t the worst thing I saw in the military, to be honest. That’s the reason I left. Besides, you shouldn’t be apologizing, you saved the bloody world!”

He looks away and nods in agreement, an amused smile on his face.

“I had some help, but I suppose I did. I think that deserves another glass of wine.” 

With that, he stands and brings his empty wine glass to the kitchen for a refill. As he passes you, your eyes are drawn to the corner of the room where a record player sits with a small crate of vinyl records beside it. You walk over to investigate and find that the record collection is as outdated as the décor, but much less shabby.

“Were you in the army Harry?” you call out the question behind you as you hear Harry returning to the room. He sets down his now full wine glass and walks over to the record player beside you, hands in his pockets.

“Yes, for a time. It’s what lead me to Kingsman. The former agent Percival was a bit of a mentor of mine, and a dear friend. When the position of Galahad opened  up, I was apparently the first he thought of.”

You look up from flipping through records to glance at him.

“Any exciting stories from your army days, then?”

“Mm, a few. All top secret I’m afraid.”

He gives you a small teasing smile that you find yourself returning.

Finally, after flipping through nearly half the musty old record collection, you find an album you actually like. You hold up the record in front of you.

“Ella Fitzgerald?” Harry questions.

“I like old music.” you say with a slow smile. You can feel the three glasses of wine you’ve had taking effect now as you loosen up.

You carefully remove the record from its old faded sleeve and delicately place it on the turntable, flipping the power on to the player and bringing it to life. The Ella’s strong and  beautiful voice begins flowing through the small speakers.

_ I’m trying to forget you _

_ But try as I may _

_ You’re still my every thought, Dear _

_ Every day _

You sway to the easy beat of Ella’s enchanting voice, turning to look at Harry after a few seconds. He has an unreadable smile on his face and his cheeks are flushed slightly from the alcohol.

With the wine you’ve had now acting as liquid courage, you are struck with an idea.

“Harry, I have a confession.”

The agent blinks and, despite his voice being even, you’re sure his eyes go a little wider.

“Oh?”

“I have no idea how to dance.”

The tension in Galahad’s shoulders eases a bit.

“Ah.”

“Could you...would you show me?”

“And what makes you think I can dance?”

“You’re telling me you’ve been a secret agent all these years and you’ve never once had to go undercover at some fancy black-tie party where you had to dance with a beautiful woman for information?”

“I think you’ve had enough wine.” he says lightheartedly. He begins to turn to walk back to the makeshift kitchen table, but you grab his hand to stop him before he can walk away.

“Please?”

Under normal circumstances you would never plead for such a thing, but the wine seems to be giving you much more courage than you expected.

Harry sighs in defeat then nods.

“Alright, come here.”

He delicately takes your good hand in his own.

“Place your hand in mine like this.” He instructs.

He seems to be unsure of where to place his other hand. He hesitates, then ultimately settles for placing it on your shoulder.

“Harry-” you laugh. “I don’t know much about this, but I know we’re not at a school formal, you can put your hand on my waist, it’s fine.”

“And you’re sure you’re...comfortable with that?”

“Yes, Harry.” You respond sweetly.

He says nothing, but he swallows hard as he gently places his hand on your waist.

“Alright, now I’ll lead. You just follow along with me.” he says after a moment.

You nod and follow his instructions.

_ And I’ll be  _ _ tryin _ _ ’ to impress you _

_ Hopin _ _ ’ to  _ _ possess _ _ you _

_ Now I know I  _ _ haven't _ _ a chance, Dear, there’s no  _ _ denyin _ _ ’ _

_ But you can’t  _ _ blame _ _ a fellow for  _ _ tryin _ _ ’ _

You sway together easily as one, and you’re actually impressed with yourself that you don’t step on Harry’s feet.  You silently thank your years of balance training.

“I didn’t have many opportunities to learn to dance as a kid.” You admit, feeling yourself wanting to open up to Harry more.

“Well, you’re quite good at it, I have to say.”

“I’m glad all my training has amounted to something, then.” You chuckle.

“Yes,  if we go undercover at a masquerade anytime soon you won’t have too much to learn.” He says playfully.

Your laughter dies down and minutes pass, but they may as well be hours, and you continue swaying together long after the music stops and silence fills the air.


	5. Chapter 5

“Come on, Gawain, put a little more force behind it.”

Eggsy stands in front of you, poised in his defensive stance, and you in offensive. If the light pouring in through the window of the fitness room of HQ you currently stand in is anything to go by, you’ve been practicing your hand-to-hand combat for hours. You can feel your exhaustion, and likely what will be a lot of soreness for the next couple of days starting to creep up on you.

The weeks of your recovery had passed by much quicker than you’d expected, and although your cast and sling had only recently been removed, you were eager to get back into fighting shape, hence the extensive sparring.

It’s taking everything in you to keep upright at this point though, which is reflecting in the slightly sagging posture of your fighting stance.

“Y/N, come on, keep going!” Eggsy encourages, seeing your exhaustion. “Pretend I’m Merlin and I’ve just told you you’re on dead drop duty another six months.”

Breathing heavily, you think about the scenario for a minute, then drop your hands slightly.

“Eggsy, I couldn’t punch Merlin even he told me I was on dead drop duty another _year_.”

"A’right then, pretend I’m that prick that almost killed you.”

You still at that thought, a new concentration taking hold of you, and resume your offensive stance in full force.

“There we go.” he mumbles with an encouraging smile.

You seize every ounce of anger inside of you at the memory of the man who had dared hold a gun to Harry Hart’s head. It’s a righteous fury and you let it flow right into your limbs, giving you the energy you need to keep going. When you leap into action, Eggsy doesn’t know what hit him. You’re still sore, but you fight through it to throw a series of punches at his middle. He manages to block them, but just barely as the speed of your attack is overwhelming.

_Right, left, right, right._

More blocked punches, but you’re able to throw Eggsy off his balance. He throws a counter hit towards you, attempting to correct and regain the upper hand, but you duck and use the momentum to circle into a sweep, knocking out his legs from under him and sending your friend tumbling into the mat beneath you.

As soon as he’s down you roll him over and put his arm in a lock with your legs.

“Shit, shit, alright, I give!” he grunts out, tapping your leg frantically.

With a laugh, you relax and release Eggsy’s arm, collapsing onto the mat next to him. You can already feel your body protesting the workout you’ve just given it, but it was needed. The most exercise you’ve gotten lately is hauling heavy packages of weapons and ammo back and forth between safehouses and cars.

“Remind me to never _actually_ piss you off.” Eggsy groans as he lifts himself from the floor to retrieve a towel from one of the nearby benches. He grabs an extra and tosses it to you. The clean fabric is a welcome treat as you’re currently pouring sweat.

“I’d say that’s sound advice.” You reply with a playful grin. “You still coming over tonight?”

“Nah, I don’t think I can make it. I’ve got somewhere to be, sorry.”

“And what could possibly be more important than getting drunk and binging Love Island all night?”

Eggsy looks at you considerately for a moment, then sighs and sits down next to you.

“Alright, look, I’m gonna tell you something but you have to promise that it stays between us.”

You sit up a little straighter, expression growing serious.

“Of course, Eggsy, what is it?”

He takes a breath.

“I’ve been...seeing someone. Like a proper relationship and everything. That’s where I’ll be tonight.”

“Eggsy you dog!” you give him a playful pat on the shoulder. “How long has this been going on? Anyone I know?” You lean forward in excitement and prop your chin on your hand, giving him your undivided attention.

“It’s been about a year now. Do you remember how I told you I got with a princess once at the end of a mission?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Swear on my life. And please don’t tell anyone, I know it’s against the rules and everything. Harry’s the only other person who knows about it.”

You grimace at that, assuming Harry’s position on the matter must not have been the most positive, considering his work ethic.

“How did he take it when he found out?”

Eggsy pauses and looks away. “I don’t think he’ll ever admit it, but I’m pretty sure he was cross with me about it for at least a week. You know he’s a big stickler about the mission coming first and everything. Not putting people at risk when we don’t need to and all that.”

“But he came ‘round eventually, right?”

“I think so, yea. The past couple months especially. He’s even asked how she’s doing a couple times.” He smiles excitedly. “It’s just...”

You look at your friend for a moment as he tries to find the right words.

“When we saved the world, which I still can’t believe I get to say that by the way, and I officially joined Kingsman, it was so great. It felt like a whole new chapter in life for me. I finally had a home my mum and my sister could go to escape that prick of a stepdad, my friends were safe, I had a job as a fucking spy! And I liked Tilde a lot. I couldn’t just walk away from her; whatever Kingsman rules were. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t have both lives. And I still don’t. I mean, having something to protect just makes me fight harder to keep the world safe.”

A pause fills the air as you consider Eggsy’s words.

“You know,” you begin hesitantly. “When I was bleeding out on the ground in Barcelona, I was so terrified. I kept waiting for my training to kick in, to suddenly have this revelation where logic overtakes everything and the panic stops. But it never happened. The only thing I could think about? Regrets. Things I hadn’t done in life. Things I’d never experienced and would never get to. How completely empty my life felt outside of Kingsman. I had no real connections, no one to think about or cling to at the end of everything.”

A heavy silence falls between the two of you.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say, Eggsy, is does Tilde make you happy?”

He smiles brightly.

“Unbelievably.”

“Then nothing else matters.”

You smile fondly at each other.

“What about you, then?” he asks inquisitively after a beat. “Sounds like you're at least on the lookout for someone. Anyone catch your eye yet?”

You hesitate to answer. You’ve come to accept that the feelings you’re harboring for Harry now run much deeper than a simple crush, but you're still trepidatious about saying it aloud to anyone.

“There...is someone actually.” you say slowly. “But I don’t think they see me that way. As a matter of fact, I used to think they didn’t like me at all but recently we’ve become, I guess you could say friends? But sometimes, it’s like, we have these moments where I think there’s something more there...”

“But...?”

“But it’s probably just wishful thinking on my part.”

“Right, what’s this mystery person like, then? Do I know them?”

A soft smile crosses your face as you think of words to describe Harry.

“He’s...”

Before you can say anything more, footsteps echo across the room. You and Eggsy both turn to see none other than the subject of your thoughts walking towards you.

You cut your words short as he approaches.

“Eggsy.” Harry says in greeting. “Merlin’s looking for you. Debrief about one of your recent missions, I believe.”

“Alright.” Eggsy nods and you get to your feet along with him. “Harry, why don’t you go a round or two with Y/N? I didn’t beat her nearly enough this session, she needs a little humility.”

Eggsy throws a teasing smile your way as he leaves, and you throw your towel at him in return.

“Don’t be a sore loser!” you yell after him.

Harry cocks his head at the suggestion as Eggsy exits the room.

“It’s not a bad idea.” he says with a small grin.

You look at Harry incredulously.

“Seriously?”

He smiles and begins adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “Only if you’re up for it, of course.”

You look Galahad up and down, sizing him up.

“Alright, you’re on.”

With some effort, you get yourself back into your offensive stance. Harry stands with his hands clasped in front of him, unmoving.

“Whenever you’re ready.” He says unbothered.

You raise an eyebrow at him in question, then launch towards him with impressive speed. You throw the same combination of hits as you did Eggsy.

_Right, left, right, right._

But Harry doesn’t block like Eggsy did, he _dodges_ every single hit. You can’t believe how fast he is. You also realize he could be countering every single one of your punches, but he’s not. He’s simply getting out of the way.

“Well?” he teases after the sixth consecutive dodge, a small mischievous grin on his face.

You furrow your brow in concentration and throw a right hook and then a left in quick succession, once again both dodged.

“We haven’t got all day, you know.” He teases again.

You can feel the frustration rising in you, both at yourself for not being as fast you’d like and at Harry for being a little shit at the moment, however amusing it may be.

“Are you gonna fight back or what?” you finally say in annoyance after another series of ducks and dodges.

“Only if I have to.”

You run at him then, trying desperately to find any opening you can. But Harry’s defenses seem impenetrable. He blocks a few of your hits this time, but you’re still nowhere near anything landing.

Finally, you back off a little, out of breath and your body screaming for a break. Harry begins circling you, then, a small smile on his face. You be sure to keep your front facing him as you desperately try to catch your breath.

“Your frustration makes you sloppy.” He says, tone unwavering. “You need to learn to block your emotions more in a fight. It leads to carelessness.”

Something about how he says this sets a flame inside of you. Who is he to tell you how you should or shouldn’t feel? Your emotions guide you, your passion fuels you. Kingsman shouldn’t have to be cold, unfeeling robots to be good at what they do.

You channel your anger to your core, planting your feet firmly and raising your fists. With a newfound focus, you launch at Harry, a blur of punches and kicks. He seems caught off guard at this, the smile wiped from his face as he actually has to work hard to block all of your incoming attacks.

Finally, _finally_ , you find an opening and land a pulled punch to his middle. He flails back a bit at the hit, and it gives you a chance to grab his arm, pull forward, and use the momentum to flip him to the ground and onto his back, pinning him beneath you.

“Perhaps a little emotion would do you good, Harry.” You say from above him, your faces mere inches away.

You stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like an eternity, both breathing heavily. Harry seems to be contemplating your words, you can see something going on behind his eyes, but you can’t say what exactly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat echoes across the room and you both look up to see Roxy standing in the doorway.

“About time someone put Harry in his place. Losing to him gets old after the first few sparring sessions.” Roxy’s laugh fills the room as she walks towards the two of you.

You unpin Harry and offer him a hand to help him to his feet. He looks at it for a few seconds, before accepting and taking it gently. He gazes at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You reluctantly let go of his hand when he’s standing again.

“The doctor wanted me to fetch you, Y/N. Seems you’re late for an appointment?”

You let out a curse as you remember you had a checkup on your arm scheduled for noon that day.

“Alright, let me get cleaned up and I’ll head over to med bay as quick as I can.”

Roxy nods and exits to relay this information to the doctor. You begin making your own exit but turn back to Harry before you leave.

You take in his form, hair mussed from your match, his broad shoulders moving up and down as he’s still catching his breath, black striped suit pristine as ever.

“You’re coming along to the safehouse in Leicester today, yeah?”

He gives a curt nod and fixes his hair. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss the last one. Orders or not.”

You push down the tinge of sadness you feel at being reminded that this was your last day on dead drops. The time spent with Harry had been a little awkward at first but was now something you actively looked forward to. Regardless of your suppressed feelings for him, you had meant what you said to Eggsy. You considered Harry your friend now, and who know how often you’ll be working together as closely as these safehouse missions once you’re fully back in the field.

A sad smile crosses your face as you turn and head towards the door. You can feel Harry’s gaze on you as you leave.

****

Since the first safehouse in Brighton, it had become a bit of a tradition between you and Harry for him to cook the two of you dinner at the end of the day. You’d tried, in vain, to convince Harry to let you cook occasionally, but he simply wouldn’t have it. So, you’d help in the kitchen whenever you could and took the liberty of cleaning the dishes after you’d finished your meals, with you washing and him drying.

The two of you currently stand in the kitchen of a cozy little cottage in Leicester that doubles as a Kingsman safehouse, the two of you finishing out your tradition of dinner and dishes, the both of you still slightly buzzed from the wine you had.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Harry says suddenly, looking pensively at a glass he’s drying. “What did you want to do before Kingsman?”

You look over at him, wondering what prompted this line of questioning, but you answer nonetheless, not seeing any harm in it.

“I don’t know if I ever had a solid plan-“ you begin, recalling memories of your younger self. “I loved the stars. I think I wanted to be an astronaut when I was four. My parents thought it was a phase, but I never grew out of it.” You laugh softly remembering all the times you begged to get the telescope out, even on nights that weren’t clear where there was nothing to be seen but clouds. “I almost went to uni for astrophysics, actually.”

“But you chose the military, instead?”

“Yea, it seemed right at the time. More concrete. I thought it was someplace I could actually make a difference in the world. Defending Queen and country and all that.”

Harry considers your words.

“I’ve always found the universe to be very unnerving. Too much we don’t know.”

“It’s just the opposite for me. I can look at the stars and realize how small our world is in comparison. Just one little planet with its own problems. No matter what mistakes we make, the universe won’t remember them. Time will pass, stars will be born and die. It’s humbling in its own way.”

Your words hang in the air as you finish the dishes.

“What about you?” you say, trying to lighten the mood a little. “What did you want to do before the army? Or is that top secret as well?”

Harry looks over his glasses at you, a knowing smile on his face. He says nothing as he dries his last dish, and you decide to let it drop. Harry’s not the most forthcoming with personal information, and you think it wise to respect any boundaries he might have, no matter how curious you are about it.

It doesn’t take long to put the finishing touches on the cottage, and before you know it, you and Harry are back on the road headed towards London. It’s dark out now and you gaze out the window as the streetlights pass by outside, Harry driving in the seat next to you. The radio plays something softly in the background.

“Do you mind if we make a quick stop before heading back?” Harry interrupts the comfortable silence.

You look at him with a questioning glance and wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Alright.” You say suspiciously as you go back to gazing out the window.

Harry takes the car onto an exit a few moments later, then, to your surprise, onto an old gravel road that seems to stretch for miles. Both sides of the road are covered by green trees that look black in the night, and you wonder where on earth Harry is taking you.

“This looks like a wonderful, isolated spot to be murdered in. Is that what this is? Are you going to murder me, Harry?” you say with a cheeky smile on your face.

“I hadn’t planned on it.” He says coolly, returning your playful smile with his own small one. “Just be patient, we’re almost there.”

That’s when you see a clearing at the end of the road ahead.

The car pulls into the clearing and comes to a stop. Harry turns off the engine but leaves the radio on. Looking out the windshield, you realize that the clearing sits on a hill overlooking a small country town below. The small houses are huddled together with only a few dim streetlamps casting yellow light over the rough roads.

“What is this Harry?” you ask, confused at what you were supposed to be looking at.

“I thought you might enjoy the view” he points up.

You tilt your head at his answer, then realize what he’s trying to say. You open your car door in excitement, step outside, look up and-

**_Oh._ **

The galaxy above you takes your breath away. With the polluting lights of the city far away, you can see every star in the sky a hundred times clearer than normal. The moon hangs brightly in the sky, full and pale, a second sun perched above.

Harry gets out of the car and walks around to the front, leaning on the hood and crossing his arms.

“I used to come here sometimes, when I first joined Kingsman. It always helped clear my head when things were overwhelming. Since you mentioned you enjoy the stars, I figured you might like to see it.”

Your mouth hangs open, still awestruck at the scene before you, but you manage to close the car door and walk around to the front of the car, leaning next to Harry as you approach the hood, looking up all the while.

“I thought you said the universe unnerved you?” you finally manage to say.

“It does. But sometimes it was nice. Helped put things in perspective when I needed it most.”

He moves slightly and you feel your arms brush together, sending your heart fluttering. Neither of you makes to move away.

“Harry- I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” You’re genuinely touched at his gesture.

Silence falls between you as you both take in the view. Harry is the first to break it.

“I wanted to be a lepidopterist.”

This finally makes you tear your gaze away from the sky and look to Harry. He continues to look up, not meeting your eyes.

“You asked earlier what I wanted to do before the army. It’s a person who studies butterflies.”

Your heart lurches. You gaze with wonder, not at the sky now, but at the man before you. A man who can kill a person in two seconds flat, who _has_ killed, probably hundreds of people. Who has given most of his life to defending this world, no matter the cost.

And he just wanted to study butterflies.

Harry’s gaze finally drifts to yours and you stare into those brown eyes you’ve come to adore. The soft sound of music from the radio floats arounds you.

_Come, let me love you_

_Let me give my life to you_

_Let me drown in your laughter_

_Let me die in your arms_

_Let me lay down beside you_

_Let me always be with you_

_Come, let me love you_

_Come love me again_

The realization hits you like a truck as you look at the man before you. The man whose eyes are more beautiful than all the constellations in the heavens. Who is more wondrous than the universe itself.

The man you’re in love with.


End file.
